Page 56 of The Duke of Ice
“Always.” He leaned forward, and she anticipated his kiss.
But he only turned and started back toward the hotel, prompting her to quiver in frustration. How had she thought they were finished? That she could move on as if the past were finally resolved? It would never be resolved between them. Not for her. She loved him with all her heart—the gentle, charming man of her youth and the dark, tortured Duke of Ice.
“Tell me, Miss Caulfield, what do you like to do?”
“Embroidery, singing, reading.”
He stopped and looked at her, then laughed. “Really?”
She joined his laughter, recalling this moment as if it had happened yesterday. “Reading, yes. The others, maybe not as much as my mother would like. I love to ride, and I’m rather good at archery.” She remembered blushing and wishing she hadn’t been so self-aggrandizing.
But he’d only laughed more loudly, his astonishing eyes sparkling with mirth. “I should like to see that. Perhaps I’ll find a place for us to shoot.” He leaned closer as he said that, and in her mind, Violet heard the gentle clearing of her maid’s throat.
Oh, Letty. She’d been Violet’s governess and had taken the position of her lady’s maid that spring in preparation for Violet’s come out. She’d loved Violet as a daughter and had seen—and sympathized with—how deeply Violet had fallen for Nick. In hindsight, Violet ought to have entrusted the letter she’d written him to Letty. But Letty had been dismissed when they’d left Bath and installed a new, far sterner maid. Her parents had blamed Letty, in part, for Violet’s behavior. Later, after Clifford had died, Violet had sought Letty out and given her a settlement on which she could retire. She’d passed away last year.
Nick’s brow creased, likely in response to her woolgathering. Violet shook the maudlin thoughts from her head and smiled up at him. “I was just thinking of my maid. I think she would like me to return to the hotel.”
His gaze moved to some indistinct point behind her. He was perhaps thinking of Letty too. “I liked her,” he said, breaking from their eight-year-old script.
“She was a dear woman.”
“Was?”
Violet gave a gentle nod. “She passed last year.”
His eyes shuttered briefly, and for a moment, she saw the Duke of Ice. No, she wouldn’t let him ruin this perfect day.
Violet squeezed his arm. “Come, Letty would want us to enjoy our walk back. She found you quite handsome, you know. But then, I recall all of Bath fell at your feet.” When she’d walked into the fancy ball, she’d heard talk of the spectacular Mr. Bateman and whether he might dance with them. She’d been afraid he wouldn’t distinguish her among all his admirers. And she’d been silly to think such a thing. She was the first person he’d asked to dance.
“I didn’t notice anyone but you,” he said, sweeping her along the path.
She knew that to be true, and yet it still made her shiver.
“Now, stop speaking as if this is the past tense, Miss Caulfield.” His gentle admonishment drew a smile to her lips. He was apparently insistent that they continue this pretense.
She tried to remember what had happened next… Oh! She brought her hand to her mouth and laughed. Collecting her wits, she sobered. “My goodness, will you look at that?” She pointed at nothing, wondering if he would recall what they’d seen.
He sucked in a breath, and she knew he did. “Good heavens, is that Lady Fairhaven, and is she…dancing?” The Countess of Fairhaven had been careening about the lawn, her hands flailing.
“I don’t recall a type of dancing that requires shrieking along with it,” Violet said, grinning. As it turned out, the countess had seen a spider crawling on her skirt—the story had been recounted for days after that. That reminded Violet of the games they’d played at the house party and Mr. Seaver saying there was a spider in Sarah’s hair.
“No, I daresay there isn’t one. Can you imagine?” He lifted his arm and flapped it like a bird taking flight. “Add in the squawking and we should have to give it an ornithological name.”
“Perhaps the bittern,” she suggested.
He cocked his head to the side as if he could actually see Lady Fairhaven and her wild exercise. “Indeed. She does look a bit like a bittern with her neck extended and her long nose. Perhaps we should have several names and base them on the dancer. You, for example, would be a swan.”
She gasped and looked at him sharply, though humor lifted her lips. “Swans can be quite disagreeable.”
“I’m sure you’ll agree they are, without question, the most beautiful of fowl.” He looked at her intently, his gaze soft but seductive. “And I’m confident you wouldn’t know how to be disagreeable if you tried.”
He’d said that then, but did he believe it now? For a moment, reality invaded their charming little play. So much had transpired since this day had actually happened. She’d been more than disagreeable. She’d broken his heart. Was it too late for them to reclaim what they’d lost? She’d thought so. She’d reconciled herself to that outcome, had prepared to move on. But now he was here…
The questions she’d ignored came roaring back, and she wasn’t sure she could keep them at bay. This was a lovely game, but they couldn’t play it forever.
He shook his head, his eyes darkening, as if he read her thoughts. Turning toward the hotel, he escorted her back. “May I meet you at the Pump Room tomorrow afternoon? If you plan to be there, that is.”
“I will now.” Her mind had gone to work planning how she would convince her aunt to allow her to go. It ended up not being difficult as her uncle had insisted she be seen—it had been, after all, the intent that summer for her to gain confidence and poise.
